S 3503 
R8195 
73 
319 
>py 1 






3ni|« $ark Uroron 



PUIR SANDY 

and Other Verse 



Appendix to 

Fox River Valley 

and Other Verse 



By 
John Park Brown 



1 lohn Par* Brow 



Brethren Publishing House 

Elgin, Illinois 

1919 



Two 



Puir Sandy 

I fear sum day, ye'll los' yir sark, 
Wha turtt a lassie efter dark, 
Or did a warlock tak' th' randy? 
If sae, yir better aff, puir Sandy. 

Or did sh' set th' muir afire, 
Tae raise a reek, as weel's yir ire? 
If that's th' plan, sh's weel succeedit 
Sin' Nick* er wallet brawly deedit. 

Bit Sandy, fear na' for yirsel', 
There is a place a daurna' tell; 
Peet reek, nor muirs, nor a' th' gither, 
Keep aff thae birds 'at's o' ae fether. 






Envy No One 

Ne'er do I envy the lot of one living — 

Less need I envy one dead; 
Little it seems that could count in my giving, 

Yet in the Book it is said, 
She gave the least of them all, who dropped in, 

Yet gave she better than gold; 
She gave her all, from a motive within — 

Others with hearts that were cold. 

While I am here there is chance I may brighten 

Those who are weary and sad, 
Just in my way; so their burden may lighten, 

Leaving them thankful and glad. 
For in the realm unto which I am going 

All have been cleansed from their sin ; 
No chance like here, so I'll ever keep sowing 

Heart seed that blesses within. 



SEP 22 (919 

■» • 

CI.A529893 



Inexorable Time 

Juno, of handsome figure, 

Meet for Apollo rex, 
Your looks of maiden vigor, 

Make queen among your sex. 

O Time ! Your wheels turn backward, 

A score of years and ten, 
" 'Twas done, kind sir, though awkward, 

Just once in human ken."* 

Since you'll not grant the favor, 

For me, and me alone, 
Then change life's taste and flavor, 

Insensate as the stone. 

Nor know your name : or number 
Of years you've plucked the rose ; 

May angels guard your slumber 
Though time's impression grows. 

Go on, thou fair unknowing, 
Your course may wisdom guide ; 

His lot has favor's showing 
Who walks by Juno's side. 



Thomas Moore 

(Erin's Great Poet) 

Erin is justly proud 
Of melodies haunting sweet, 

Echoing clear and loud, 
Finished and so complete. 

Fresh from a human heart, 

Cherished in every clime, 
Well have they done their part, 

Lyre that will ring through time. 

Joshua 10: 13. 

Throe 



The Innocent Tabby 

If you will but incline your ear, 

Nor grudge the time to tell, 
And scant occasion you may fear 

What I remember well. 
When young I to a party went — 

It almost slipped my mind, 
Aroma almost like a scent, 

And hauntingly its kind, 
Came in my face ; I changed my place, 

Then this transpired, you'll find. 
I ought to say she looked like May — 

So lovely her complexion ; 
A violet blue, her eyes so true, 

If right in my reflection. 
Not young was she, just matronly, 

Her looks almost transfixed me; 
This lady fair, with lovely hair. 

Who gracefully sat next me. 
She kindly beamed, with teeth that gleamed 

Correct, and pearly white ; 
Had she been young I think my tongue 

Had need of rest by night. 
We spoke a little, back and forth, 

She leaned towards my chair, 
Low whispered near, close to my ear, 

"There's some one passing air." 
The blood had fled, up to my head — 

I'm sure my heart beat faster; 
I tho't me quick, this is the trick 

To save us from disaster. 
"Come, pussy cat," as there she sat 

As meek as any Moses, 
"Where do you dwell, to bring such smell? 

From rolling in the posies." 



Four 



I spoke quite loud, it took the crowd, 
And then we roared in laughter; 

I'm not a prude, nor over good 
But I've thought of it after. 



It happened in Buchan, Scotland. 



Genius' Frailty 

Much more could genius do, 
Restful through grace, 

Much have you done, 'tis true, 
For human race. 

Stand we, aghast at you, 

As we look on ; 
There are so very few, 

Such trophies won. 

Think I, of Satan's wiles, 
Wasting 3'our hours, 

Means by which he beguiles 
To wreck your powers. 

Too oft he does succeed, 
Through varied ways ; 

Nor stop at any deed 
Shortening your days. 



Birth and Death 

You come in tears, though those around are smiling,* 
They are in tears that's near, though you go, smiling; 
Favored are they whose span has finished so. 
Though sorrowing are those who see you go. 



The thought is from India. 

Five 



The Divine Gift 

As ray from heaven, is the gift of song, 
That can lighten hearts, and our joy prolong; 
Sing in the Spirit, of the joyful sound, 
So minds resilient from their cares rebound. 

Sing, too, some ballads that my mother sung, 
Of them, some fragments in my ears have rung, 
Plaintive and touching with a sweet love strain, 
Since I can't hear her, sing them o'er again. 

Close I my eyes so I'll sense it clear, 
Care-free young days come so strangely near, 
Blest happy mem'ry of the long ago, 
Dross of my heart; leave, I ask thee, go. 



Our Limitations 

The workings of the human mind 

Are far beyond the grasp of men ; 
While on this sphere we'll ever find, 

They're not made plain to mortal ken. 
There is a place our faith doth know; 

What long was hid, then plain to sight, 
Though darkly yet, then clearly show, 

Nor shadows hint impending night. 



Joy of Letter-writing 

Such privilege to write a letter 

To some responsive soul, 
Who doth aspire his life to better, 

While pressing t'ward the goal; 
And when the favor doth return, 

Sometimes with joy expressed, 
The sentiment makes heart to burn 

In palpitating breast. 

Six 



" Eyes Have They, but They See Not " 

How favored man, though mortal, 
Such thoughts our hearts inspire, 

Through eye, the spirit's portal 
So much we can admire. 

Are any so insensate, 

Nor will their Maker know, 
To grope as in a blind state, 

Nor give themselves a show? 

They've lost the finer senses, 

Or else have never known, 
When using nature's lenses, 

The wonders that are shown. 



Samson 

Samson, the man of strength — 
Who of him has not heard? 

Lost he his power at length ; 
So tells the sacred word. 

Sad was his mighty fall, 

He who was so unique ; 
He heard a siren call; 

Through her he was made weak. 

Men ! all of us have powers — 
What use of them make we? 

We say that time is ours, 
What saith eternity? 

Major-minded 

A private am, but major-minded, 
Both first and last, I'm like to be ; 

Nor class me in with those thin-rinded, 
And cheerful side of life I see. 



Seven 



France's Tragic Queen 

Rachel, Madame Rachel ! 

A star in the tragic sky, 
Stamped with mark of genius, 

Crowds came to see you die. 
Few in a generation 

Show in the firmament; 
Proud of you were your nation, 

Genius whom heaven had sent. 
Then as your flame was waning, 

Sadly they let you go, 
Rachel, pauvre Rachel, 

When in the grave laid low. 



A Triangle, or, Three Choice Things of 

Earth 

A perfect rose is beautiful, 

Whose perfume scents the air; 

A prattling child that's dutiful, 
With lovely face and hair. 

A person fully-grown doth know 

The rose will swiftly wither; 
The winsome child may be beguiled 

To change, as does the weather. 

But watch the look on matron's face, 

Viewed life at varied angle, 
That of the three, continued grace, 

The best of the triangle. 



Eight 



Differing Viewpoint 

Madame ! where you live such a wondrous view, 

Such bracing air up in these Scottish hills, 
The heather stretches in their purplish hue, 

Fragrance, and droning bees : — my being thrills. 
Aye, says housewife, wi see th' cairts a mile 

Afore thir here, noo jist yi turn aboot ; 
On market days, th' cairts, sheep, stirks an' kye 

For three lang crookit miles wi see, nae doot. 



Hay-fever Victim 

And now comes the season, 
Beyond words, or reason, 

We dread to hear mention ; 
When all in relation 
To nose's sensation 

Pleads constant attention. 
The victim, confessing, 
Says 'tis most distressing, 

The hay-fever feeling. 
Rift in his cloudy sky 
Seen by his bleary eye, 
Courting its enemy — 

For frost he's appealing. 



Shut In with God 

Shut in with God was patriarch when deluge came, 
To wipe them off earth's face who lived in shame. 
When dire affliction comes to mansion or to cot. 
We are shut in with him if he doth rule our lot. 



Nine 



Thomas Carlyle and His Wife's Heartache 

Great mind in mighty channels wrought ; 
Full rounded life by you e'er sought? 
Lore's mantle more by far to thee 
Than tinsel, lace, or filigree 

Of woman's charms. 
What woke from selfish reverie? 

Your empty arms. 

Deep things of man you could propound, 
While thus enrapped, nor sight nor sound, 

Dare you disturb ; 
For little things had scanty use, 
Chose mighty tomes, and things abstruse, 

Did self e'er curb? 

Her kindness took, as things of course, 
Thought of yourself, as better horse 

In wedded yoke ; 
Not love's ebullient spring for thee, 
Respect, esteem of high degree, 
Should be enough for her and thee — 

Too late you spoke. 



Poor Solie 

I sit by the fire alone, 

Though the glow is nearing the embers, 
And muse on what has been done, 

That scant are now the numbers. 
Does Solitude lack in beauty, 

That many resist her charms? 
Or is it the claims of duty, 

That I'm here with empty arms? 



Ten 



Possibilities of Enjoyment 

Are heaven's joys much purer than 
The joys that earth to mortals show? 

Or is it so that mortals can 

Bring heaven down while here below? 

Some mortals you and I may know, 
The gamut run of reason's joy; 

Well-rounded lives to us they show, 
And yet their Maker's praise employ. 

So, "first the blade, and then the ear," 
The ripened grain in time will show; 

Their life's fulfillment makes us hear 
The truth : — unfolding joys can know. 

A blending in the powers of man, 
Gives best results that truly show, 

We then fulfil our Maker's plan 
In joy, in strength, in all we know. 

To use, but not abuse while here, 
Is all, worth while to mortals given ; 

Share joys while here, nor have a fear — 
There's purer, lasting joy in heaven. 



Jeremiad 

Waes me, waes me, it vexes me, 
Thae sinners I hae seen, 

Nor can th' see, fat I can see 
For striffins on thir een. 



Eleven 



Thrust from Eden 

What means this cavalcade? * 
Are pilgrims passing here? 

What cause can this have made? 
From each, falls bitter tear. 

Millions are passing by; 

Pity, who would not show? 
A tear in every eye, 

As down life's vale they go. 

How many will return ? 

Facing the steep incline, 
Hot tears my cheeks doth burn, 

Will they? in Time. 



The One in Seven 

No talk of shop to me on Sabbath day, 

I want you to understand, sir, what I say; 

My mind enough six days with cares are riven ; 

I grudge not change of thought one day in seven. 

" Then, think you, should we act like monk in cowl, 
Male chorals dirge, on earthly pleasures scowl, 
Our flesh harass, on simplest fare subsist, 
On conduct like to this you would insist? " 

Unreasoning are you, friend, in rambling talk, 
You're unaware as to my Sabbath walk, 
God's claims are first, nor thoughts of man he'd crush, 
All nature's hues speak his supernal brush, 
Sometime the truth may say he's surely striven 
To honour God, and day, the one in seven. 



* Procession. 
Twelve 



Life's Changing Current 

O magic love ! whose halo bright, 
Could mist dispel, though dark as night, 
Your pristine power hath lost its hold, 
When woman's heart grows hard and cold. 

Not Sinai's law, or silver sound 
Brings echo note, or hearts' rebound; 
The click of coin gives some more joy 
Than husband's face from day's employ. 

Hope, steer my course to a clearer stream, 
O'erhanging trees, filter Phoebus' beam, 
Life's changing current, bear my barque along 
Where sylvan hills echo back my song. 

Naming the Ninth 

Mother. Child of our later life, 

Father. What shall we name? 

M. Time about, no cause for strife, 

F. You've won the game. 

M. I wish the name of Bruce, 

F. Scotch to the core; 

M. Then we'll declare a truce, 

F. You've won the score. 



Singing for Shut-ins 

So hauntingly your vibrant voice 

Enthralls my listening ear, 
My thankful spirit doth rejoice 

That heaven can come so near. 

Could I but hear you, o'er and o'er, 

In tones exultant sing, 
Though tried with pains, and troubles sore 

Your voice could solace bring. 



Thirteen 



The Hallowed Memory 

There is a chamber in my secret heart, 
So sacred is it: — seems a thing apart; 
No unclean bird doth e'er hover there, 
Sanctum sanctorum: it is entered rare. 

There choicest pictures on memory's walls, 
Scenes most endearing a glance recalls; 
Nor lived again can they ever be, 
Fused to all existence, by fate's decree. 

Should pale-horsed courier to me be sent, 
And responding soul, veil of flesh have rent, 
The walls of secret recess will unfold, 
And the scenes depicted will again be told. 



Relative Greatness 

" In this room great Carlyle was born/' 
Mused maiden-tourist, travel-worn, 

In Ecclef echan ; 
For sights, nor was she lacking zeal, 
Which made the Scotch dame kindly feel 

Though heavy pechan,* 
The maiden's mind seemed in a spell, 
Scotch accent broke, " ae mornin' snellf 

Oor Maggie here wis born." 



A Weather Vane 

"Look at him! No streak of yellow, 
Well put-up, I'll bet he's sound," 

Chest so full, a handsome fellow 
Were his head but turned around. 



* Labored breathing. 
t Cold morning. 



Fourteen 



Gifts, Not Grace 

Poet, like meteor flash, not oftenwhile 
In nations' sky: fell mark for Satan's wile, 
To nullify his power o'er fellow-men, 
Since gift of his is best expressed by pen. 

How oft, when young, have barque of gifted folks, 
By troubled waters swift, been wrecked on rocks, 
While lands from which they sprung, in dazed surprise 
Exclaim: "A constellation fell before our eyes!" 

O Burns ! I doubt not oft when you were writing, 
Angel and Satan near at hand were fighting, 
Truth brightly gleamed through wayward child of man, 
Whose shortened days were part of Satan's plan. 

O Scotia! well thy greatest bard has sung, 
World-circling echoes from his voice have rung; 
Somnolent Scotland should have eased your lot, 
When poet's mantle graced a lowly cot. 

How favored some, besides the poet Burns, 
So rich endowed: — my mind reflective turns 
To weigh such wondrous gift by heavenly grace 
That leads us on to reconciled face 
Of Him, whose approbation on our lot 
However lowly, marks a heavenly spot. 

While heavenward bound, content to daily plod, 
Sometimes we trip on pilgrim-traveled road ; 
But forward-faced, we scramble to our feet, 
Though humbled, nor let enemy defeat 
God's worthy purpose for us ; well we know 
Through cursing Peter chose his power to show. 

Kit toon 



How rich my lot in what makes life worthwhile, 
No wearied moments have I to beguile 
By potion strong, or dope, or nicotine, 
Enticing jaded sense, through loss of sheen 
To life's unfolding page, for interest strong 
As when but seventeen, to me belong. 

Now riper judgment; weak my will was then, 
When passions strong did surge, as oft in men, 
So new to me, and none to whom could tell 
The mysteries of life's recurrent swell. 
Fine-sensed, my nature, quick, impulsive, kind, 
Nor need to jog imaginative mind. 
In reverence strong, although I knew not God, 
Soon after called to choose the narrow road, 
My life he marked by seal of sacred fire, 
Which, spite of earth's enthrall, bred new desire. 
Nor once have dared to hint why grace was given, 
Luring me more from earth to more of heaven, 
And help me own earth's things with easy hold, 
And better things than wealth to me unfold. 

Still sensitive to touch of others' loss : 

Though often such alone can banish dross 

That hinders progress in a Christian's life, 

And shames the devil e'en through earthly strife. 

So praise accrue to Him whose right it is; 

Who faithful serve him here, share heavenly bliss. 



Sixteen 



